What ought Guynemer to do?  Desist, no doubt.  But, having been imprudent in his direct attack, he was imprudent again on his new tack, and his usual obstinacy, made worse by irritation, counseled him to a dangerous course.  As he dived lower and lower in hopes of being able to wheel around and have another shot, Bozon-Verduraz spied a chain of eight German one-seaters above the British lines.  It was agreed between him and his chief that on such occasions he should offer himself to the newcomers, allure, entice, and throw them off the track, giving Guynemer time to achieve his fifty-fourth success, after which he should fly round again to where the fight was going on.  He had no anxiety about Guynemer, with whom he had frequently attacked enemy squadrons of five, six, or even ten or twelve one-seaters.  The two-seater might, no doubt, be more dangerous, and Guynemer had recently seemed nervous and below par; but in a fight his presence of mind, infallibility of movement, and quickness of eye were sure to come back, and the two-seater could hardly escape its doom.

The last image imprinted on the eyes of Bozon-Verduraz was of Guynemer and the German both spinning down, Guynemer in search of a chance to shoot, the other hoping to be helped from down below.  Then Bozon-Verduraz had flown in the direction of the eight one-seaters, and the group had fallen apart, chasing him.  In time the eight machines became mere specks in the illimitable sky, and Bozon-Verduraz, seeing he had achieved his object, flew back to where his chief was no doubt waiting for him.  But there was nobody in the empty space.  Could it be that the German had escaped?  With deadly anguish oppressing him, the airman descended nearer the ground to get a closer view.  Down below there was nothing, no sign, none of the bustle which always follows the falling of an airplane.  Feeling reassured, he climbed again and began to circle round and round, expecting his comrade.  Guynemer was coming back, could not but come back, and the cause of his delay was probably the excitement of the chase.  He was so reckless!  Like Dorme—­who one fine morning in May, on the Aisne, went out and was never heard of afterwards—­he was not afraid of traveling long distances over enemy country.  He must come back.  It is impossible he should not come back; he was beyond the reach of common accidents, invincible, immortal!  This was a certitude, the very faith of the Storks, a tenet which never was questioned.  The notion of Guynemer falling to a German seemed hardly short of sacrilege.

So Bozon-Verduraz waited on, making up his mind to wait as long as necessary.  But an hour passed, and nobody appeared.  Then the airman broadened his circles and searched farther out, without, however, swerving from the rallying-point.  He searched the air like Nisus the forest in his quest of Euryalus, and his mind began to misgive him.

After two hours he was still waiting, alone, noticing with dismay that his oil was running low.  One more circle!  How slack the engine sounded to him!  One more circle!  Now it was impossible to wait any more:  he must go back alone.